


Proof of the Impossible

by Meilan_Firaga



Series: 25 Days of Christmas Fics - 2015 [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Fluff, DeathSmoak, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slade stumbles on Felicity doing something he didn't expect out of a good Jewish girl in the holiday season. Pure fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof of the Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> Following this set of prompts (http://yourfavoritescoundrel.tumblr.com/post/104198583046/a-friend-was-looking-for-a-holiday-themed-prompt) my goal is to post a new fic every day for the 2015 holiday season.
> 
> The second post is "writing cards." 
> 
> So, I'm really kind of worried that I may offend someone with this fic because I have a genuinely non-Christian character professing love for a Christian holiday. There's a reason to it, though. I have known exactly one Jewish person my entire life. He is an amazing human being. He takes care of his friends, keeps an open mind and an open heart, practices his faith. But he loves Christmas more than any person I have ever known. Seriously, he sent me a picture today of his dining room plastered in decorations for Christmas. Every time I think about Felicity and the holiday season, I just see her being exactly like my friend. He has a childlike enthusiasm that I can't help but admire. I hope you guys will like my Felicity in response to Christmas as a whole.
> 
> For those of you seeing this posted in the same series as "One in the Eye, One in the Heart" and maybe getting excited--something's on the horizon. Happy holidays, my loves. ;)

“Love, I don’t mean to make assumptions, but aren’t you Jewish?”

Really, it was impressive how not surprised Felicity was by Slade’s deep voice suddenly manifesting in the townhouse she had thought was completely empty only moments before. She startled-scrawled less than an inch of misplaced ink that time. It was a record when it came to “surprise-Slade-appearances-whilst-writing.” Even a month ago, she likely would have screamed and thrown her pen halfway across the room--halfway because, let’s face it, dexterity is entirely more important than strength when it comes to hacking, and Felicity is completely more dexterous in any situation that doesn’t involve yoga or the splits or flexibility in anything beyond the fingers, really. Not, of course, that she would consider herself dexterous in anything naughty involving fingers. The train was jumping the tracks a bit, there.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she inquired in the calmest voice she could manage, setting the ruined card aside rather than chucking it over her shoulder in an aggravated manner. There was absolutely no card chucking. The Mirakuru would heal the papercut on Slade’s cheek fast enough to back her story up, anyway.

Completely oblivious to the vaguely bleeding papercut on his cheek, Slade rested his chin against her shoulder. “What is a proper Jewish girl doing filling out Christmas cards?”

With a put upon sigh, Felicity decided that she wasn’t getting her task finished anytime soon. She set her pen aside, and pushed gently back in her chair until Slade stepped away enough to let her turn around. He had a sack of Chinese take-out in one hand, and the scent of sesame chicken--her very favorite--drifted to her nostrils. If she could say nothing else about her villain-turned-boyfriend she could at least say that he knew the value of a food bribe. She leaned back in the chair until she was staring up into his face, wrapping her legs about his knees.

“You think Jewish girls can’t like Christmas?” she asked, quirking a smile at him while sliding her foot across the back of his thigh into decidedly teasing territory.

To Slade’s credit, his eye only glazed over for a fraction of a second before he shook himself out of it and trained an exasperated gaze on her face. “I believe I asked what a Jewish girl would be doing filling out Christmas cards,” he clarified, leaning forward to set the sack of take out on her desk before placing his hands on the arms of her desk chair, effectively trapping her in the seat. Really, with the number of awkward villain situations Felicity had been in, she could imagine so many worse ways to be trapped.

“What’s not to love about the magic of Christmas?” Okay, so she was gushing a little bit. Slade merely lifted an eyebrow, and she couldn’t help but go on. “Sure, the commercial side is terrible. Companies capitalize on Christmas in a way that detrimental religious institutions could never dream of. There’s Christmas blend coffee, Christmas sales, Christmas specific grocery specials… but, you know, despite all of that what does Christmas really boil down to?” His gaze was steady, an expression she’d grown familiar with in the open: he’d never really bothered to think about it. “It’s family. It’s an excuse to give things to the people you care about and rope them into spending time with you because, hey, spirit of the season and all that.” The longer she talked, the more his expression softened, the corner of his lips slipping up into a smile. “It’s all about spoiling the people you care about and doing it while eating way too much delicious food and an astounding amount of sweet baked deliciousness. What’s not to love?”

Before she knew it, Felicity was hoisted into the air, Slade’s hands beneath her thighs the only thing keeping her from a bitter, painful landing on the hardwood floor of her living room. She didn’t have time to protest before his lips found hers, his hands moving so he could keep her hoisted against him while still managing to tangle one fist in her hair. He kissed her slowly and sweetly, never being more insistent than was necessary to keep their lips gently molded together. His kiss spoke of words he’d never say: how he loved her optimism, how she was the light to his inevitable darkness, how he only wished he could see the world and its products for just a moment through her lense of goodness. It seemed an eternity before he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. He was silent for several long moments, dark eyelashes hovering against his cheeks. After what felt like forever, Felicity found herself dumped unceremoniously back in her chair.

“Finish filling out your cards,” he growled--a growling tone she knew was more cover than sincerity. He snatched the bag of Chinese food from her desk and stomped off toward the kitchen. “You will stop to eat, though.”

Biting her lip to hide the enthusiasm in her smile, Felicity turned back to the cards on her desk. For the first time she could remember she really didn’t have anything to wish for at the holidays. A grumbly, stubborn, strong, horribly attractive man who could accept her weirdness? Clearly, some deity had already done the impossible.

 


End file.
